To Live
by iRockYourSocks
Summary: Zuko didn't do these things because he wanted to. He did it for his country, to make his father proud. After a massacre, he finds the lone Romani, Katara, still alive. He takes her in to protect her, and they bond through a shared sense of loneliness. She lost her family; he never really had much of one. Zutara oneshot


Zuko paused in his rounds to grimace at the dirt spot on his shoes. He'd just gotten them polished the previous day. What good was a _Schutz-Staffel _with a partially filthy uniform? He rolled his shoulders back, satisfied that at least his clothing was in good condition. He was proud to wear the earth-grey tones of the Third Reich's special guard. Those camps were good for one thing, he was positive; Zuko had never received a uniform that was less than perfect.

His eyes easily slide over to his fellow officers, seemingly relaxed but always alert. He sighed; his anxiety and boredom was causing his irritation. They were walking along a dirt road; everyone had at least one spot on their boots. Zuko rolled his eyes towards the heavens, praying for something exciting to happen.

* * *

There used to be laughter. There used to be music. There used to be a lot of things in life that Katara loved. Now, living day by day in fear, she didn't even know if life was worth living anymore. She could hope, but hope only brought disappointment. Sokka always did say that she was quite the optimist.

Katara missed the days when her family was happy, rather than putting on masks just to get by. Sokka used to crack jokes about every little thing, from a lone butterfly, fluttering its wings through the air, to Old Man Jenkins and his denial of his actual age. Such a daft old man.

After being herded into the ghettos like wild cattle, nobody smiled much. There was nothing to smile about. Music was a huge part of being Romani, but not many were ever in the mood to sing and dance anymore either. Although nothing particularly bad has happened to the Romani in the ghetto that she resided in, the feeling of isolation from the rest of the population caused the unease to creep through her body.

She hasn't been a German citizen in almost six years.

She hadn't been home in nearly four.

The sparkling blue eyes of a girl eager to see the world hardened into the cynical gaze of a young woman dreading the uncertain future. Suppressed questions always bubble up in the back of her subconscious. Was she going to die today? Would she wake up one morning and her family would be gone, vanished into thin air like smoke? Would she ever be happy?

She wasn't married, odd considering her customs but understandable seeing her situation. Sokka used to tease her by calling her an old maid with no hopes of finding a good husband. She always ignored her simpleton brother because it wasn't like he was married either. This was how war affected them.

For a young woman of twenty-one years of age, she felt awfully old. But that's what war does; it has a special way of aging people.

* * *

Zuko hated this, this _cleansing _of the races, but it had to be done to have a perfect world; a _German _world. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He did it for the honor of his country that had been so wronged after the first world war. The Führer saved Germany from ruin, and for that Zuko owed him his life.

Uncle wouldn't be so proud. He'd be disgusted with what Germany was doing, what _Zuko _was doing, if he were to ever find out.

Uncle left for America when Zuko was still a child. Zuko was bitter, but he understood that Iroh needed a new beginning after losing so much in the war, including his son. Zuko probably would have gone with him had it not been for his father's disapproving looks and snide comments about Iroh.

Nationalism had a strange way of controlling people. What could Zuko say? He was just like the rest of them.

For now, it was one foot in front of the other, one steep at a time, follow each order, no questions asked.

Having a conscience only caused problems. Father always said that Zuko was weak. He said that Azula should have been born male; she would have been the son he always wanted instead of being stuck with a weakling with feelings who would never be strong enough for war.

Zuko hoped his father was proud now.

Marching into an isolated community with rifles to attack a group of unarmed civilians made Zuko feel sick.

But Father would be proud.

* * *

Katara awoke to the sounds of screaming and gunfire. Her eyes widened, quickly getting out of bed and slipping a robe on. Sokka burst into her room, panic evident in his matching blue gaze.

"Katara, are you all right?" he inquired, his voice slightly wavering with fear. His fingers were still tightly gripping the doorknob on her shabby door. She swallowed and jerkily nodded her head, not trusting her voice. "Come on, we have to go out into the town square. The soldiers are here." Katara pretended to ignore how her brother's voice cracked and how he sounded on the verge of tears. Sokka walked up and hugged his sister tightly. Katara's world became blurry from unshed tears. This wasn't a joyous hug between brother and sister; this was a hug that meant their worlds were ending, and Sokka poured all of the words love and affection for his younger sister into that hug that he didn't trust his voice to say. Somebody had to stay strong for the two of them; he promised their father.

Exiting their home, arm in arm, the duo saw the other Romani in the ghetto, still in their bedclothes, lined up and being watched by the soldiers _that _insignia. Katara felt her heart clench and her throat pinch. Those men had already evicted them from their homes and tore them from their lives. Nothing good can come out of this.

It was eerily silent, with the soldiers staring at the Romani, and the Romani hesitantly looking back. The tension was vision in the crisp early morning air. Katara's heart was thundering in her chest. Surely everyone could hear it. The suspense was killing her.

When the soldiers raised their rifles, terror bubbled up in was fruitless to run. They'd just catch up to you and shoot you dead. She saw many children, as young as infants, dropping like flies, their screams ripping something inside of her. The agonized screeches of pain from their mothers were unbearable until those died down as well. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but everything seemed to begin moving in slow motion. She looked over at Sokka, who seemed resigned of his fate but determined to save hers. He curled his body to shield her, ignoring her muffled protests and her arms trying to push him away. A bullet

lodged itself in her arms, causing her breath to hitch in her throat as she tried to hide her agony. Sokka was holding on for her, but as a bullet went through his throat, Katara knew the end was truly near. She lost her brother, her best friend.

Sokka's body began to fall, bringing hers with him. Katara began to cry into is chest, not wanting to acknowledge the blood dripping out from between her only lifeline's lips. "Shhh, shush, 'Tara," Sokka croaked, the light fading from his eyes. "Play dead and get away from here. Survive. I..."

Katara nestled her face into her fallen brother. He did not die without honor. She would obey his final order, the last words on his dying breath.

She prayed that she looked dead enough to escape detection.

The sounds of gunfire echoed through the night. She swore that the stars were crying for them.

* * *

Zuko stayed behind to finish tossing the last of them into the mass grave on the outskirts of the ghetto. His face scrunched up in a grimace as he moved to drag one of the corpses. At least the Jewish people he'd encountered as a soldier were sent to camps instead of exterminated in their own homes. Looking down at the young man, who seemed to be protecting the one next to him, Zuko clucked his tongue. The young man didn't seem to be much younger, if not the same age, as he was. It was such a shame and a waste; if not for racial purity, this young man probably would've made a strong soldier.

Tossing his body into the grave like a rag doll, Zuko moved on to the female that the previous corpse was protecting. Looking at her face, she looked peaceful if not for the burrow in her brow. She was quite pretty, with features different from the German girls that he was used to seeing. Her clear, bronzed skin and wavy locks were an attractive feature, but her scowl, even in death, made Zuko wonder what her last thoughts were before she was killed.

Rolling his shoulders back, he grabbed her arm and proceeded to pull until a sharp, hissing intake of breath caused him to stop. He glanced down at the young woman, watching her begin to stir into consciousness. Her eyelids begin to flutter open, revealing a pair of tired blue eyes. Zuko dropped her like he was burned. The woman whimpered quietly. He was taken aback. He'd never had to deal with a survivor. He supposed he should kill her, but it didn't feel _right_.

The Führer said that the Aryan race was perfect. Blonde hair and blue eyes were the basis of the perfect race. However, Zuko had dark brown hair and light hazel, nearly golden eyes. He wasn't perfect. However, this Romani, this _Gypsy_, had blue eyes. Zuko felt a surge of jealousy for this strange woman, but also pity. It was silly of him to envy somebody to who had lost everything in a matter of minutes and had a nasty gunshot wound.

He could hear Uncle's sage wisdom in his mind, the advice that he tried to bury like the rest of his conscience, albeit unsuccessfully.

It would be wrong and dishonorable to leave this woman out to die after he participated in the massacre of her people, her family. After an internal debate with himself, he picked up the woman and carried her into one of the empty buildings. He laid her down on the love-seat and sat on the armrest nearest her.

Brushing some of her hair aside, he tried to make sure she was as comfortable as possible in her condition. Her blue eyes scrutinized his movements with open hostility. He sighed, removing his helmet and dropping with a loud crash; it bounced and rolled a little before coming to a complete halt. "Why did you save me?"

Zuko's head jerked up in surprise. Her voice was very clear, not allowing a chance of misunderstanding her words. "What do you mean?" The woman rolled her oh so very blue eyes. "It would be dishonorable of me to leave a helpless, injured woman to fend for herself."

She scoffed. "What honor do you have? You killed innocent people! Women, children, infants, elders. All gone in less than half an hour. Where is the honor in that? We were unarmed. You had no right." She gingerly placed an arm on her wound; it was beginning to throb.

Zuko's nostrils flared. "Who are you to call me dishonorable? I was only following orders! The Führer wants to make a perfect state. There has to be sacrifices to obtain perfection in his vision for our future."

The woman bolted upright, slightly wincing at her arm movement. "You idiot! I am a German citizen! Or, at least I was. Imagine. Right now, it's the Jews, Romani, handicapped, among others. Next, it'll be people like you. Dark hair and not blue eyes. You might not be included in his vision."

"Just be happy that you aren't being buried alive," he ground out. Her eyes widened and then narrowed. Zuko smirked; he like knowing that he could flare her temper. "I'll be back later on. I'll have something to dress your wound. I go on leave for a few weeks, so you'll be staying with me." He stood and and began walking out of the door.

"Katara."

He turned around, quirking an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

The girl shook her head. "Katara. My name. May name is Katara."

"Katara." Zuko decided that he liked the way her name rolled off his tongue. He nodded in her direction. "Zuko." Then he left.

* * *

During his adolescence, Zuko was, if he were being honest with himself, a bit of a dork and extremely socially active. Girls interested him, but he cam down with a nasty case of marble in the mouth syndrome whenever he attempted to talk to one.

Hence, when he started living with a living, breathing female, he had no idea what to do. To make matters worse, he and his firing squad massacred her entire community, including her beloved brother.

Zuko supposed the saying, "Hell hath to fury like a woman scorned," held some precedence.

He told his superiors that he and his "friend" (he received many hoots and "Zuko, I didn't know you had it in yous" after that announcement. Nobody believed that they were simply friends. Needless to say, Zuko refused to explain why his face was a bright, cherry red) were going on a much needed break to explain Katara's presence. He'd told them that she was from southern Italy to explain her tanned skin. Katara wasn't too happy to play his doting lover, but she did it for her survival.

That was her new game, survival. She had to survive for her family, for Sokka. She had to do what he couldn't. She had to live. Suffering through a few weeks of torture with this _murderer _would be worth it for years to come of freedom. For Sokka. She had to survive. However, that didn't mean that she wasn't going make life a bit tough for him, just out of spite.

Upon arrival to his parent's summer home on the River Rhine, Katara was in a rage. He wouldn't deny that she didn't have the right to, but Zuko had been going out of his way to act civil towards her and attempt to gain her trust. Granted, she didn't really need to trust him, but Zuko would much rather spend his limited vacation in peace and relaxation than have an enraged Gypsy woman screeching at him and going out of her way to give him the cold shoulder.

Quite frankly, Zuko was sick of it. She was ungrateful for all of the trouble that he had gone through. He even removed that damn bullet from her arm, with no help from her. True, he had been the cause for her troubles, but whether she like it or not, the order to exterminate the impurity that was Romani would have gone through even if he were absent that night.

He did not deserve to be her scapegoat or her stomping mat.

Father was right; he was weak.

Zuko had no backbone, but he was going to grow one today.

"-can't believe how much of a slob you are! Is it really so hard to just put things back where the hell you found it? Wow, Zuko, for such a superior specimen as yourself, I'm surprised that-"

"SHUT UP! For the love of all things sane, _please_ shut the hell up!" Zuko bellowed. Katara didn't even flinch. "You've been bitching nonstop for the past eight days! So _please _Katara, to make this stay as enjoyable as possible, cut it out!" His chest heaved and he felt as if a huge weight was lifted from his chest. Her gaze shifted to look at each eye individually, perfect and marred, before smirking at him. Zuko was bewildered. "What are you so smug about?"

Katara shrugged nonchalantly, heading upstairs to the room she deemed as her own. "Nothing. I didn't know you had it in you. I still don't like you though. But I guess you're tolerable," she called over her shoulder. Zuko heard her feet softly padding across the wooden floors.

He smiled. It was a start.

* * *

"Do you want to have tea with me?" Katara looked up at Zuko, who was rubbing his neck. He cleared his throat and asked again. She shrugged, a light lifting of her shoulders. "Can you at least talk to me?"

"I don't know. Are you going to kill more families?"

Zuko groaned, running a hand down his face. "I told you, I was only following orders. It would have happened if I was there or not." She had begun shaking her head before he'd even finished talking.

"No. That's what I just don't get about you. You see all of these atrocities because of this war. Hell, even the Americans are in the war now. People are dying for what the Führer calls perfection. Nothing in this world is perfect. He's killing _everybody _that is different from him. And you believe his propaganda bullshit! It's _not _okay! It's murder!" Katara stood up and marched over to the doorway where Zuko stood, poking a finger into his chest. "My family is dead. My old _life _is dead. I must send my thanks to the men simply following the orders that uproot everyone's lives," she added sarcastically with a roll of her ever blue eyes.

Zuko pursed his lips, waiting for her rant to end. "Are you finished?" he asked quietly, his head down. Katara was taken aback. She didn't like that he wasn't fighting back. She pounded her fist against his chest.

"You bastard. Don't pretend that you are an actual human being! You're a _monster_!" She could feel the hot, angry tears cascading down her face. She hadn't cried since _that _night_._ She thought she was being strong, but she was only suppressing how she really felt. She wasn't surviving and moving forward; she was deteriorating and staying in the past.

Zuko gingerly grabbed her fist, holding it lightly against his chest. He could feel her soft sobbing as she held herself closer to his body. "You _bastard_. I _hate_ you." Her venomous words had lost their bite.

"I know."

* * *

He began to give her space as needed until she started to warm up to him. He isn't sure if she'll ever truly like him, but seeing her smile at the birds flying by or enjoying the nature of the gardens out back was worth it.

She had such a beautiful smile.

* * *

Zuko and Katara had a bond that grew out of their mutual loneliness. She had lost her entire family, and he hadn't had much of one to begin with.

Neither had the healthy comforts of their lives before it was uprooted from them.

The first time it happened was after Zuko found her in the gardens out back looking at the stars.

She seemed curled up in herself, in her own world where she was safe from the harsh reality that she had found herself living in. Timidly, as to not scare her to make her unreasonably angry, he sat next to her.

"Are you all right?"

She shook a head, a small smile playing on her lips. "You know, my people believe that there is a balance in the universe. _People _have a balance within themselves. This war, it isn't balanced. Not with these mass killings."

Zuko shrugged. "That's nice. You're wrong, but it's a nice thought." Katara narrowed her eyes at him.

"Different people have different beliefs. Like my friend Aang. He's Jewish, but we were still very close. I haven't seen him in many years. I wonder what has become of him." Zuko pretended that he did not hear her sharp intake of breath. "His beliefs were different than mine, but we never felt superior over each other. Friendship has no bounds. We should embrace each other's differences instead of annihilating those who aren't the same." Zuko shrugged again. "I knew you wouldn't understand." As she started to dust off her hands on her skirts, he grabbed her hand. She looked at him with wide doe eyes as he began to lean towards her, but she didn't stop him. When his lips brushed against hers, she quickly jerked away.

"I...I am sorry," Zuko rushed out. "I didn't...I mean...I-" Katara cut him off with her lips on top of his. Zuko's eyes, once wide with shock, quickly closed to enjoy the feel of her soft, plump lips pressing against his.

He gently laid her down on the grass, hovering over top of her. He nipped at her bottom lip, causing her mouth to tentatively open. Taking her bottom lip into his mouth, he gently tugged at it before placing a sweet kiss at the corner of her mouth. She grabbed him by his hair, crashing his lips onto hers. She traced his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, asking for entrance. Zuko quickly obliged.

As she kissed Zuko, Katara could only think about how disappointed her family would be, how _impure_ she would be in their eyes by engaging in such wanton behavior. She had no family left; who could find her a good husband? Her life ended the day she was moved into that ghetto as a teenager. She would live for her people, for Sokka, by taking in the comforts she could find. She didn't necessarily feel safe in Zuko's arms, but she didn't feel threatened either. She wasn't happy, but she was content, considering her circumstance.

She had never kissed a man before, and she couldn't deny that the thrill of it left her body tingling. So she pulled Zuko closer, cradling his unscarred cheek in her hand while her other hand rested at the nape of his neck, gently playing with the soft hairs there.

He groaned into her mouth, one of his hands palming her thigh to bring it up by his hips. She arched her back into him, turning her head to the side. He latched his mouth onto her neck, sucking on her pulse.

All they had right about now was each other, Katara reasoned. That was the only reason why they sought comfort in each other's bodies. As clothing began shedding away, replaced with skin, she told herself that maybe in order to live, a piece of her must die.

When Zuko pressed his body into hers, unifying them in the most intimate way, Katara felt the tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. She turned away from him as he began to thrust into her. She could feel the taut muscles of his abdomen brushing against her softer stomach, and she silently reveled in the feel of his back muscles rippling under her hands as he fought to hold himself up without crushing her and with each powerful push of his hips.

But it wasn't supposed to be like this. Katara wasn't supposed to be writhing underneath the German soldier who helped massacre her family and friends. She wasn't supposed to enjoy the his hip bones pressed into her body with only the stars as the witnesses to this union. She was supposed to be married, with only her husband seeing and touching these most private places. SHe should have had many children by now, laughing and dancing with her family.

Yet, she wasn't.

Her life was torn from her. She had _nothing_. She began to lose herself in the pleasure of this act. Thinking about things that will never happen wouldn't do her any good. All she really had to think about was the man with the amber gaze, the need for companionship evident in his eyes. Whether she liked it or not, they needed each other.

However, she was broken beyond repair. She could never return to the Romani after what she has done. If she couldn't fix herself, she could try to fix him.

* * *

Katara had taken up to reading books whenever she desired time to herself. She didn't care much for reading before, with the stress of life or death staring her in the face, but now she had time.

Her and Zuko's relationship was much different from it had been after they started having sex on a regular basis.

Whenever Katara jolted awake and screamed after a nightmare, Zuko came into her room to see if she were okay and made her scream in another way altogether.

If Zuko's demons were threatening to come out, Katara let him come in.

She felt sick to her stomach that she was enjoying herself as her brother lay rotting in a hole in the ground.

* * *

Katara decided that the neighbors weren't too bad. They were a lively bunch, for an elderly couple. The wife was very sweet and kind, but her husband had shifty eyes that Katara didn't trust.

When he asked Katara why her German was at times strangely accented, she coolly said it was a slight cold and politely excused herself.

Yes, he was untrustworthy indeed.

* * *

She was sitting in the kitchen when he came home. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow as he sat down in his seat at the table, his face hidden by his hands; Zuko looked extremely stressed out. Admittedly, he was never truly relaxed; he was uptight and generally tense. She didn't understand what was wrong with him this morning. "Is everything all right?"

"No." Terse and to the point.

Katara felt the unease that she hadn't felt in weeks seeping in. "Then what's wrong?"

Zuko looked up at her and his expression was agonized. "They know."

Katara swallowed. "Who are _they _and what do they _know_?" She licked her lips; they felt extremely dry.

"That old man told them! They know that you're here, Katara. They know that you're here, _and they're going to take you away from me_." He bit back a sob, hiding his face in his hands once more.

"What do you mean they know? Dammit Zuko! Answer me!" Katara was gripping the countertop, her head swimming.

Zuko swallowed and looked at her, a mask in place on his face, "They're coming to take you away to Auschwitz. There isn't anything I can do to stop it."

Katara began to blink back tears. She miscalculated. She could never be safe. "What is Auschwitz? Zuko, please, talk to me," she murmured softly, not trusting her voice. Zuko shook his head and walked away.

"They come tomorrow.

* * *

They made love for the first time that night. He took her slowly, savoring the feel of her warm, soft body under his and the feel of being connected to her in s way that no other man had. He cherished every mewl she made, every whisper of his name rolling off her tongue. He relished in the way her blunt fingernails clawed their way down his back; maybe he deserved the pain. The way her fleshy walls fluttered around his stiff member will be forever ingrained in his memory. He thought that he may love this Romani woman. He could feel his heart slowly breaking.

Katara couldn't tell if those were her tears or his tears dripping down her face. She could sense those three words on the tip of his tongue, but she kissed him before they could tumble out.

She didn't need to hear them.

He didn't love her. She didn't love him. It was a relationship built out of convenience.

She let him bask in his fantasy for the night if she were to die in the morning.

* * *

Katara hates triangles. She hates triangles. She _hates_ them.

* * *

Zuko hasn't been the same since she left.

* * *

Her hands, they _hurt_. They _hurt,_ but they still make her work. It's because of this _stupid triangle_. SHe hates. it, she hates it, she _hates it._

* * *

Zuko wishes that the Waffen-SS didn't take over the concentration camps. He wanted to see her and make sure that she's okay

* * *

Everything is cold. Her fingers shake with the effort to just eat a small ration of bread. They still make her work. She _hates _this triangle. She _hates _it. She misses her hair.

* * *

Zuko knows she's gone. There is no way that she could have survived.

He still hoped, though, that she would make it.

* * *

_I have to live, for Sokka._

_For Zuko._

* * *

He felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The war ended six years ago, and in the market he saw _those _hauntingly blue eyes. He thought she was gone. He prepared himself to never see her again.

He ran across the square to get to her, to get to _Katara_.

When he tapped on her shoulder, he was met with a different face, not his Katara. The woman asked him if he were okay. Zuko shook his head. He'll never be okay.

* * *

The End.

* * *

**Author's note.** If you have made it to the end of this, thank you! I wrote this as a birthday present on tumblr for justkeepshipping. I hope you enjoyed it!

The Holocaust affected a lot of ethnic groups, and rather than make Katara Jewish, I made her Romani.

Questions probably going to be asked:

What are the triangles? -the Romani people in concentration camps wore brown triangles on their uniforms to distinguish them from the other groups.

Also, the firing squad in the beginning was accurate because most of the Romani were shot on sight rather than taken to camps.

Is Katara dead? -I don't know, is she? ;D

Katara had killed off her innocence (virginity is really important in their culture. However, they normally marry really young soo...) in order to live. She still had hope, but her hope was hanging on a thread.

Reviews are lovely.


End file.
